


Take my Breath Away

by Spookaburra



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Asphyxiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 03:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30099450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spookaburra/pseuds/Spookaburra
Summary: There’s a spark behind his eyes, half-hidden by his aviators, and Spy wonders briefly if it’s the control–knowing he can end Spy’s life whenever he so desires–or the knowledge that he has something more, something precious. Spy's body is heavy, but his head is light, and shadows begin to dance at the corners of his vision as consciousness slowly begins to be pulled from him. Sniper knows the look, recognises the fading light behind Spy's eyes, and lessens his grip, only enough for Spy to take in a short breath–-just enough for the shadows to disappear.In which I attempt to write for a fetish I don't have, and have no idea how I did because minimal research was done to ensure accuracy. \o/ Creative title is creative. M for smut.
Relationships: Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Kudos: 13





	Take my Breath Away

**Author's Note:**

> I debated even posting this one, because I'm not too thrilled with it myself, but the Tumblr crowd seemed to enjoy it well enough, so here it is! Touched up and revised to be slightly less clunky (I hope). Not actually inspired by anything for once, just a thing I wrote totally on a whim one day. Eventually I'll post an actual proper fic here instead of these super short ficlets. Eventually. Also, I imagine this fic taking place on Well for some reason. Not sure why.

It’s a familiar position he’s found himself in, pinned against the unforgiving brick of an enemy building. The intent is different than usual, though still far too familiar, and Spy struggles to breathe against the strong fingers that tighten around his throat. He makes no move to free himself, yet there’s an internal struggle, one born of instinct, and self-preservation, and fingertips fumble at the wall behind him as lust wars with pride. Each beat of his heart, felt behind Sniper’s grip on his neck, causes another wave of pleasure to pulse through his body, and he curses to himself, aware that his captor has full control over his predicament, aware that he wouldn't have it any other way, that he would surrender himself like this hundreds of times over.

There’s a twitch in Spy’s fingers, betraying his need, an arch of his hips the signal for his "attacker" to continue, a silent plea for more. Sniper does him the courtesy of freeing him from his slacks, and Spy’s vision wanes momentarily as Sniper takes him in hand, starts a slow pace. There’s a spark behind his eyes, half-hidden by his aviators, and Spy wonders briefly if it’s the control–knowing he can end Spy’s life whenever he so desires–or the knowledge that he has something more, something precious. Spy's body is heavy, but his head is light, and shadows begin to dance at the corners of his vision as consciousness slowly begins to be pulled from him. Sniper knows the look, recognises the fading light behind Spy's eyes, and lessens his grip, only enough for Spy to take in a short breath–-just enough for the shadows to disappear.

A thought in the back of Spy’s mind wonders if Sniper will allow him satisfaction this time. There have been times when he hasn’t, let Spy die to a lack of air, left him to respawn, no longer hard, but with a lingering, persistent itch. It’s a gamble, he knows, one that Spy is willing, if not eager, to take, and he shudders, clenching his jaw against the agonisingly gentle touches Sniper affords him. The pace is far too slow, too gentle, _too damn tender_ compared to the hold on his neck, and his knees tremble with the conflict overtaking his whole being. It’s just a waiting game now, to see whether or not he’ll be allowed to come, and the reminder of fear brings another wave of arousal. His throat clenches with a silent moan, and Sniper's palm shifts to feel the muscles flex. One gloved hand drifts up to caress Sniper’s fingers, and if they were in any other setting, the action could almost be considered loving.

As Sniper eases his grip, and allows him another quick breath, he’s fairly satisfied that the man will afford him release. The thought brings a subtle smirk to his face before Sniper’s fingers clench again, and Spy's jaw falls slack with the pressure on his throat, a muffled croaking sound managing to escape. He alternates, focusing first on the desperate need for air, then on the pleasure, and the way his body flips back and forth between them both makes his head spin. His eyes meet Sniper’s. A silent message of need reflects in his expression, and Sniper’s hand moves faster as he mutters filthy promises against Spy’s ear. At last, the fingers leave his throat completely, and the deep, gasping breath he pulls in causes relief to flood his body, overwhelming him with a multitude of sensations. He comes, hard, light and color dancing behind his vision.

He pulls air into his body with shuddering gasps, desperate to catch his breath. He feels tired, yet adrenalized, his body slowly recovering from the trauma it was just forced to endure. In the distance, he hears something about “a bloody mess”, and feels strong arms helping ease his body to the floor. Sniper holds him, helps him settle, and it’s only after a minute or two of steady breathing, and some gentle attention, that he finally returns to somewhat normal. He cracks his eyes open, giving Sniper a sly smile. He'll be expected to return the favor...


End file.
